


Czerwona Kurwa

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, Evil Russia, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Victim Blaming, Non-Binary Poland, Non-binary character, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Triggers, Victim Blaming, set in the 80s, transfeminine character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Poland slipped off of the main road and started winding down narrow streets of the old town. The houses here made her smile. These buildings were her home, her past, and somehow, despite all the destruction, the old town was still her legacy.Suddenly, a voice cried out from above her, “Czerwona kurwa!”Red whore. The old woman her a red whore.





	Czerwona Kurwa

**Author's Note:**

> Czerwony Kurwa means red whore/fuck in Polish. I actually know someone who was called that in the street in Poland in the 80s for wearing a red hat out in public. 
> 
> A more detailed warning is in the end notes.

Poland woke, not thinking of what she was going to wear that day, as she would have liked, but of how angry Russia was going to be if she was late for her meeting. Instead of taking time to pick out some clunky black-market American jewelry to wear she threw on nondescript slacks and a tie. She was running late. Eventually, Poland stood by the entryway of her grubby apartment, bundling up for her venture into the freezing winter. As an afterthought, she slipped on a pretty red hat before she slipped out.

The morning was icy but the city was already alive with movement. As she walked down the street, she ignored her citizens, all rushing about to make it to work on time. Instead, she scrutinized the city. The further she walked the more she felt sure Warsaw did not look much different from the day before. It was just as grey and dreary. Just as complete and undamaged.

Poland was jolted from her thoughts when she heard a screech and great rattling from the tram. She had walked thoughtlessly to the nearest tram stop. She couldn’t take it though. All the money she had was a few meager rubles, leftover from the weeks she spent in Russia. She spent all her zloty restocking the apartment with food and other supplies after her long stay in Russia. She would walk to the meeting. She was going to be late and Russia would be furious but it couldn’t be helped. 

Poland kept walking. She drank in the sight of her city. The steel sky, the blackened buildings, and the dirty grey sludge on the sidewalks. Really, it didn’t look so different from Moscow but it was hers. She built this city up from the earth twice over.

She soon grew bored of the dead grey walls and decided instead to look at her citizens. Everyone was bundled up tight, only the strip of flesh around their eyes visible. Most people were rushing by, in a hurry to get warm again. She didn’t hear a single voice. It was too early and too frigid to waste breath on talk.

Poland slipped off of the main road and started winding down narrow streets of the old town. The houses here made her smile. These buildings were her home, her past, and somehow, despite all the destruction, the old town was still her legacy.

Suddenly, a voice cried out from above her, “Czerwona kurwa!”

She looked up a haggard woman sneering down at her, from where she was smoking out of a window. 

Red whore. The old woman her a red whore. A communist whore. She felt a hot rush of shame. Wasn’t that what she was? A whore for Russia. She shouldn’t have worn the red hat today. It was fashionable and cute; a gift from Hungary who didn’t care that red was a communist color, only that it looked good on Poland. She had felt sweet and soft in the hat, in a way the clothes Russia made her wear never could. She had left behind skirts and dresses so many years ago but Hungary knew she still wanted to look beautiful. She rushed away from the woman.

Did she want to beautiful? She tried not to remember the compliments Russia had given her when he found her in one of Hungary’s dresses a few months ago. Pretty girl, lovely lady, sweet thing, Russia had said. Poland wanted to be called all those things. She had inwardly preened at the words that Russia said to punish her. But at the same time, she felt sick. Russia did find her pretty. On her knees mostly. Russia had fucked her in the bathroom that night and Poland had come on the dress, had ruined Hungary’s beautiful dress. She never gave it back. But she never wore it again.

She was a block away from the building when she resolved to give Russia hell. That lady would never know she fought. She probably wouldn’t care, but Poland would know. Poland would care.

 

She entered the building with a smile on her face. Fake happiness would infuriate Russia. She would get under Russia’s skin. It would almost fun.

When she walked into the meeting room, everyone stood up to greet her and she shook hands with the various Polish and Russian delegates. Russia shook her hand with a sweet smile. Poland smiled back with all her teeth.

Neither Poland nor Russia actually needed to be present for this meeting. It was important they both show their faces and seem interested in proceedings though. At one time Poland would have thrown herself into a slouch and started picking her nails in a meeting like this. But she couldn’t find that kind easy relaxation in her body anymore. Poland just plastered an interested look on her face and diligently answered everyone’s questions. Eventually the meeting was over and the delegates left to go to other meetings or the brave the cold on the way home. 

Poland gathered the notebook she had scribbled in during the meeting, and slid into her bag, a gift from Greece. There was no rush. Russia wouldn’t let her leave anyway. Not yet. When she went to open the door, Russia called her name. His tone was deadly calm and Poland rolled her eyes before turning. Russia might be one for quiet dramatics but he learned it from Poland.

“You were late today.” Russia said with a sweet smile.

“I totally didn’t have any zloty for the tram.” Poland said without apology. 

“Is that so.” it was not a question “You seem so happy, for someone with no money.” 

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Just shrugged with an artificial smile.

“Are you happy to be home?” Russia asked. He was just looking for an answer to get angry at. Poland was not even going to try to play along that day.

“Yeah. Don’t you know that I have the best home in the world? And oh yes and let’s not forget that your home is the worst.” She almost regretted what she said.

“Maybe I should teach you how to like it there, da?” Russia said sweetly. That was not what this lesion would be about. She knew.

“You, like, totally can’t teach me something I don’t want to learn.” Poland said preparing herself for the coming punishment. Russia stood slowly, adjusting his coat before walking gracefully over to the door and locking it. The click seemed to echo in Poland’s head. The lock was just a formality. Everyone knew better than to interfere with what was about to happen. Poland just hoped the building was mostly empty. Russia could give a lesson quietly but Poland could not take one quietly. 

Russia pulled the pipe out of his coat and swung it right into Poland’s stomach. She doubled over. As Poland gasped for breath she realized that if this is what Russia was starting with then she was in trouble. Poland knew she were going to be punished. She walked in the building knowing that she would take whatever pain Russia was going to give her. But she had always been bad at calculated risk. Still gasping for breath, Poland straightened and struck out at Russia. She knew she weren’t going to win but that didn’t mean she would let Russia leave unscathed.

Russia reared back and took a moment to wipe away blood from his mouth. Poland almost wished that he would speak. Prussia always spoke when he beat her, Austria too. But when Russia decided to punish people quietly he was almost always silent. 

The pipe came down on her shoulder and a crack sounded through the room. Poland let out a strangled cry. 

Russia kept hitting her until she stopped moving. Russia was always careful not to let anyone fall into unconsciousness during a beating and Poland was still wide awake. Poland had just given up. Her bones ached, her shoulder was broken, she was tired down to her bones.

“Are you done?” Russia asked. Poland had been screaming she remembered.

Poland turned to spit into Russia’s face. It was a familiar move. Poland was starting to wonder if Russia liked being spit on.

Russia shoved his fingers into her mouth. His leather gloves were still on and Poland knew from experience that she couldn’t bite through them. She knew what this meant. Russia pulled open her mouth and Poland made an unattractive noise in the back of her throat. She didn’t want to be pretty while Russia fucked her mouth. 

Russia pressed his fingers into her tongue and she inhaled the scent of leather.

Then, he pulled a chair over, dragging Poland to her knees by the mouth. He sat and pulled her head into his lap. 

“Suck,” he ordered with a sweet smile.

 

Eventually, Russia let her up. Not until after she had swallowed his cum, kissed his dick, and tucked him back into his pants. Luckily, Russia didn’t want her to have an orgasm tonight.

“Did you learn now?” Russia never specified exactly what Poland was supposed to learn from these lessons but Poland knew anyway. 

“Nie.” Poland said, wiping her mouth.

For a moment, Russia’s confidant expression broke into anger. Poland filed the momentary break in Russia’s control away in her memory. That look didn’t make the pain worth it, but it was a gem she could admire in her memory. Maybe the lady who called her a whore that morning would be proud. Probably not. Still she took her pleasure in being Russia’s worst whore.

Russia left in a silent flurry of coat and anger.

**Author's Note:**

> Poland, who is a non-binary transfeminine person, gets raped and beaten by Russia in this fic. Tread carefully.
> 
> Comments give me life!


End file.
